Code Red
by newdisaster77
Summary: Code Red: when Lestrade calls that out to Scotland Yard, everyone knows it's time to put the gloves on and march on over to 221B for a phony drug's bust to search for evidence Sherlock Holmes is hiding. But after one memorable incident, Code Red may have an entirely different meaning.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hi guys! Recently there was a contest on .com. This is NOT my entry. This was an idea that bloomed from it and I knew I HAD to write it. This is chapter 1. I hope you enjoy it! Leave reviews if you can!**_

_**ooooooooooooooo**_

_Not again,_ Lestrade groaned internally as Sherlock dashed off. He left in his usual manner, which was realizing something his team hadn't and immediately prancing away to solve the case on his own, with John right behind him. John was like Sherlock's enabler, always ready to supply him with assistance. Whether that meant simply being astounded and amazed at Sherlock's genius or actually providing helpful input, John was Sherlock's man. Undoubtedly, Dr. Watson was now thinking of a multitude of ways to help Sherlock get a hold of something. That something was probably going to be the evidence that would help put the murderer behind bars (in this case, simply the weapon itself). Sherlock would keep it nestled in his flat, trying to deduce not who had done it but rather why and how. Meanwhile, Scotland Yard would flounder about helplessly.

Well, not today.

"Guys, I think we're going for a Code Red."

Lestrade was met with inexhaustible protests.

"Why? Why, why, why?!" Sally immediately proclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Because you know he's about to withhold evidence," Lestrade reminded her.

"Yeah, but a drug's bust? Is that necessary?"

"You were eager to help last time! You volunteered!"

"Yeah, but that was before…" Anderson trailed off and looked disgusted.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "Seriously? _That's _your reasoning?"

"Well—" Sally started, but Lestrade put his hand up.

"No, you guys are absolutely not about to try and resist on the basis that Sherlock and John are…an item."

"Officially," Sally laughed, "because we know they were probably shagging each other long before they went public about it."

Anderson made a vomiting sound, "God, please don't put that in my head."

Sally smirked, "Bet they've done it in the morgue."

"Donovan," Lestrade groaned.

"Maybe even on your desk," Sally kept on, pointing at Anderson's desk. He squirmed uncomfortably.

"Dear God, please stop."

"Agreed," Lestrade said, and gave Sally a stern look, "Now let's head out in about three hours or so. Sherlock will have found the weapon and stashed it by then in the flat.

A small number of Yarders gathered their things. It ended up being only Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, and four others (and the only reason Donovan and Anderson went was because they had to). The ride involved talking over the radio about which places to search first. Donovan suggested the kitchen, as that was where most of the experiments went on. Lestrade figured the mantelpiece. Anderson thought that Sherlock was so arrogant that it wouldn't be hidden anywhere; rather, it would be sitting out in the open on a table in the sitting room.

No one said anything about bedrooms. It was an unspoken agreement that that was a last resort. Even Lestrade didn't really want to go looking.

"There be dragons," he mumbled to himself and pulled the car up next to the curb.

The seven officers got out and looked at each other, their faces set in familiar frustration. Anderson opened the outer door and cocked his head to urge them all inside. They walked up the landing and stood outside the door, each of them hesitant. None of them wanted to deal with Sherlock's reaction to them breaking into the flat. For that matter, no one wanted to deal with John either.

Lestrade breathed and set himself to getting it over with. The door was locked, but that wasn't a problem. Lestrade took out his keys and slid past his car and house key to get to 221B's.

The flat was quiet and the entire team breathed a sigh of relief. No one was home. It didn't even sound like Mrs. Hudson was there either.

"All right people," Lestrade sighed, "let's get to it."

The routine was practiced far too well. Lestrade went to work in the kitchen, starting with the fridge. Donovan went into the pantry. One of the officers even braved the bathroom. It wasn't necessarily quiet in the flat (there was some odd noises coming from somewhere, but they just sounded like regular goings on), but it was getting clear that no one was making any progress by the sighs and irritated gesturing.

It was at some point during this time that Anderson wandered out of Lestrade's sight. He must have gone up to John's room, as one of the officers had dared brave Sherlock's and had come out empty handed.

"Nothing," the man said, "and get this: his room is practically spotless. Totally clean! Organized, even."

Lestrade smirked, "That does surprise—"

He did not get to finish his sentence because suddenly there was a loud yell from upstairs:

"BLOODY FUCKING CHIRST!"

There was a lot of thumping and movement. Voices started coming from upstairs and the six people all congregated into the sitting room and waited.

"—so sorry! We didn't know-" said the voice of John Watson.

"I did," the unmistakable baritone of Sherlock Holmes made Lestrade and the rest of his team share a horrified look. Surely, no.

"You what?!" John sounded angry.

There was a loud thump and then pounding footsteps racing down the stairs. Anderson ran into the room. His coworkers were all looking at him expectantly,

Anderson sputtered a bit and then made a strangled sound.

"What is it?"

"Code red!" Anderson shouted and then promptly ran out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Part 2! Muwhaha I am just having too much fun with this story. Leave a review, if you can.**_

From around the same area they'd heard the seemingly normal noises, there was a lot more activity. Then, someone was descending the steps.

Lestrade hoped and prayed that this was not happening. He wished that Anderson, in his arsehole way, had simply been horrified by Sherlock and John taking a brief nap. Maybe they had been cuddling. Perhaps they'd been snogging.

However, it was John's appearance that made him realize exactly what he didn't want to think had just happened had, in fact, just happened.

John's trousers were on right, but he was barefoot. His shirt was not tucked in, which was usually John's style, and the top button was undone. Looking like it had been flattened in a hurry, John's military cut hair was sticking out a bit on the sides. All of this could have been explained or written off, if it hadn't been for two very critical details.

One was that John's face was beyond red. His eyes were blown, and his brow was sweaty.

The other was the fact that Sherlock was walking down the stairs, hair in all sorts of directions, face flushed, and wrapped in nothing but a sheet and a smirk.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," John greeted, trying to muster up as much dignity as he could. His eyes darted around, bravely meeting Lestrade's gaze but poignantly no one else's.

"John," Lestrade nodded, his face reddening.

"Um, I take it this is a drug's bust deal?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Told you," Sherlock rolled his eyes from behind John.

"Look, I hate to tell you this, but the weapon is already on its way to Scotland Yard," John informed them all.

"As is the killer," Sherlock grinned proudly.

"What?" Donovan piped up.

"Yes, we found the murder weapon," Sherlock began, but John cut him off.

"Which Sherlock failed to mention was going to be in the hands of the killer. So we bagged him—"

"By that, John means that he single-handedly outmatched an accomplished boxer and had him in cuffs before the man could raise a word of protest; don't be so modest, John."

"We called Scotland Yard about forty-five minutes ago," John continued, ignoring Sherlock, "didn't someone tell you?"

"We were already on our way by that point," Lestrade said, becoming very angry at the guys back at the Yard. Why had no one contacted him to tell him that little piece of information?

"Anyways, you all have no business here," Sherlock dismissed, "and John and I were quite busy."

"Yeah, I take that," Lestrade mumbled, trying to be graceful about it.

Apparently, Donovan couldn't stand everyone ignoring the elephant in the room, "Didn't you bloody well hear us? We weren't all that silent!"

Sherlock smirked again and John looked aggravated. The tension released at the obvious switch in John and Sherlock's demeanor and everyone relaxed at what was clearly something of a dispute forming between the two of them.

"Well, _I _knew you were all here," Sherlock admitted, "but I kept John in the dark about it."

"How exactly?"

"Simple," Sherlock grinned, "I told him I wanted to try something new!"

"Sherlock!" John turned around to try and silence him, but it was fruitless.

"I asked him if we could see if we could try to be silent. I'll admit it was a struggle, John being ever so good with his hands—"

"Shut up!"

"And I thought he was going to give us away when—"

"How in the bloody hell didn't you hear us, John?" Sally demanded. Lestrade wished he'd shut her up because he knew whatever John was going to say was not something anyone wanted to hear.

John went very red, "I was, erm…preoccupied."

"Yes, with my mouth around your—"

"THAT'S quite enough!" Lestrade interrupted an all too smug Sherlock and pinched the bridge of his nose, "we'll all be leaving now."

"Excellent! John, back upstairs."

"I think I'm going to make myself some tea. That mood is very dead."

"But John…"

Lestrade did not stick around to hear anymore of Sherlock begging to be buggered. He tried not to make it look like he was running out of the flat.

Anderson was standing outside near the fence, looking completely dumbstruck.

"We're leaving now," Lestrade told him. Anderson did not say a word as he got into the police car. All of the others followed his example.


End file.
